Watchman
by theothergranger
Summary: After leaving the Malfoy Manor, Hermione is more disturbed than is realized by her companions.  She refuses to let it show to anyone, except for a certain Weasley who will do anything to protect her.
1. The Landing

**Whenever I write a fic it has a 'soundtrack' that goes with it.**

_**"Your childhood home is just powder white bones,**_

_**and you'll never find your way back.**_

_**And when you're gone will they say your name?**_

_**And when you're gone will they love you the same?**_

_**If not, that's okay."**_

_**- "That's Okay" by The Hush Sound**_

**XXX**

The sound of distant, rushing water pervaded Hermione's ears, barely managing to drown out a strange, high-pitched squeal, that squeal's source being somewhere in her own head. The air was heavy and damp, smelling of salt. It was pleasantly warm, but a feeling of being chilled set in with unnatural speed. She was somewhere by the sea… but the sand under her felt gritty and irritating, the mild air pierced her clothes, which having been soaked by the surf, were dripping wet.

On top of the waves and piercing sound there was the sound of someone sobbing and another person speaking frantically in a low voice, worried and angry. She tried to speak, to ask for silence, but all that came out was a pitiful, broken sounded moan. She realized it was her crying. From the distance the voice of Bill Weasley floated her, calling for his youngest brother. A moment later she was hoisted away from the ground and out of the sand, her clothes clinging to her, drenched from the sea water she had been laying in.

The pain from the motion was immediate. It attacked her entire body, her head felt like it was exploding, her joints ripping apart. Her muscles seized together and for a moment she found her voice, giving an anguished scream before she was overwhelmed by the agony, before her world crashed into utter, tormented darkness.

**XXX**

Ron landed on the ground in a heap, his limbs landing awkwardly beneath him. His arms, however, were empty. Having departed the Malfoy Manor with Hermione firmly encased in them, his heart began to beat rapidly and he rolled himself onto all fours to look for her. As he spit sand from his mouth, he managed to locate her crumpled form lying on its side about five feet along the beach. The water lapped gently at her motionless body. A lump formed in his throat. Next to him Harry was cradling the bloodied form of Dobby, muttering despairingly. The nervous pangs he had felt since being taken by the Snatchers, having turned into a feeling of rage at the Malfoy Manor, resurfaced and seemed to assault his lungs. His heart raced as he clambered to Hermione. He found it hard to breathe.

She was crying, whether she realized it or not, and when Ron tried to roll her onto her back she whimpered. Her body was convulsing harshly. The weeping issuing from her caused Ron to clench his fists, he felt his ears burning, and he longed for something to punch. For a fleeting moment he considered returning to the Manor… In the blink of an eye he could be gone, and for several moments he considered all the ways he would like to torture Bellatrix Lestrange.

"RON!" came the bellow from the gate of Shell Cottage. Unclenching his tightly formed fists, tearing his mind from murderous thoughts, he turned and saw his brother Bill barreling through the gate. Gritting his teeth he scooped Hermione into his arms as gently as he could and stood.

The resulting scream startled him so much for a second he thought he might drop her. Thankfully, he was able to clutch onto her tightly, for only a moment later Hermione's entire body seemed to go absolutely rigid, her muscles quivering.

Fleur had appeared directly behind Bill and was now racing through the gate as well, her face painted with alarm.

"Hermione…" Ron croaked when Bill drew close enough to hear him. The eldest Weasley brother surveyed Hermione grimly, his mouth set in a thin line.

"She's been tortured." He muttered, his tone hushed and appalled.

"Bellatrix. Crucio." Ron spat in response. Fleur had reached them, her face twisted with concern.

"Bring her in, Ron," she stammered, turning and beginning to race back to the house. "To the spare bedroom."

Ron turned expectantly to Bill, who was now looking to the others who had been saved by Dobby. Ollivander was being tended to by Luna and Dean, who both looked shaken but otherwise unharmed. Griphook was standing over Harry's shoulder, observing the dead House Elf. Bill glanced at Ron for a moment, his expression melting into pity.

"I don't know, Ron…" he said, answering the question Ron hadn't been able to bring himself to ask. Working as a Curse Breaker, Bill had seen the extent of damage that could be done by even the simplest of spells. "We'll talk." He murmured after a moment. As Ron walked quickly to the cottage, he could hear Bill addressing the other members of the group behind him.

Only when he had walked through the threshold of Shell Cottage did Ron look at Hermione. Her face was covered in sand and blood. Her tears had cut tracks through them. Her expression was a mutated mask of despair and pain. Her hand were clenched into fists, the knuckles white. Her bottom lip had bloody bite marks in it from where she had attempted to clench her mouth shut.

"Hurry, Ron," Fleur chastised, having come down the stairs. "Her arm is bleeding."

"What?" Ron asked, stunned. He had seen the wound on her neck, but missed the one on her arm. He quickly moved to the stairs and followed Fleur to the spare room, where had had, only months ago, stayed after abandoning Hermione and Harry.

Fleur quickly stripped off Hermione's jacket, at the same time instructing Ron to hold a piece of gauze to the girl's throat.

With the jacket gone, and her arm bared, it became apparent just how much blood she was losing. Ron heard Fleur mutter the word "scourgify," siphoning some of the blood away from the marks on Hermione's forearm.

Fleur gasped.

The blood disappeared only for a moment, for the wounds were bleeding profusely and would not be staunched on their own, but the moment was long enough for both Fleur and Ron to read what had been carved in large, harsh letters into Hermione's arm.

_Mudblood._

Ron stared at the mark for only a minute, an eerie silence settled over the room as Fleur began to wrap a bandage around the word. Ron's ears turned a flaming shade of red, pure rage bubbled to the surface.

"Excuse me." He whispered.

He was as far as the bottom of the stairs when the anger exploded. He punched the wall twice, bellowing ferociously. Through the window he saw Bill look towards the house, confused.

Distracted, he accidentally put his hand through the window.

After realizing what he had done, he swore before sinking to the ground, cradling his now bleeding hand.

"Hermione…"


	2. Aftershocks

_**"Can you, will you,**_

_**at least attempt to stay now,**_

_**just turn around, I'll make you break through"**_

_**- "What Gets You Through The Night" by The Audition**_

**XXX**

"Bill, I can't make her stop!" Fleur exclaimed. At present, the woman was holding Hermione Granger by the shoulders, pressing down with all her wait, as she attempted to hold Hermione still through another seizure like attack. Bill, who had Hermione by the legs, merely grunted.

Fleur had been trying, for nearly two hours, to think of anything that might ease the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

"I've seen it last this long before, Fleur, all we can do is wait." He hissed. Hermione stopped moving suddenly, sinking back into a what seemed to be a bizarre, restless coma. Fleur held Hermione's shoulders for a few moments longer than was necessary, her lip trembling almost imperceptibly. She looked down on the other girl's absurdly paled face, her lips were a shade of blue, and the dark circles under her eyes stood out vividly.

"Will she die?" Fleur asked, tearing her eyes away from the disturbing sight of a helpless, silent Hermione.

"If she's been tortured to the point of insanity, which is often the case with these curses, I sincerely hope she does." Bill said flatly. He expected Fleur to be offended by his cold statement, but she merely nodded, understanding. Their moment of silence was broken when Hermione whimpered, her voice breaking over the noise, her eyes clenching shut with even more ferocity.

Bill resumed his grip on her legs. Almost instantly, the quaking returned, accompanied this time by a scream Bill and Fleur found horrifying to listen to.

**XXX**

Ron jerked his head towards the stairs. Hermione was screaming, again. Again, he tried to move to the steps to go to her, but Luna tightened her grip on his arm. She had spent the better part of the last few hours picking shards of glass out of Ron's arm. They both realized she could have done so magically, but the action gave them both something to do.

"I think that's the last of it, Ronald," Luna proclaimed, her airy voice sounding unusually weary and resigned. She observed the fierce grimace on his face and sighed. "They're doing this for you, Ron. It isn't pretty, the Cruciatus Curse." The distant look on her childish face quelled Ron's instant flare of anger, which had appeared while she attempted to comfort him.

"What do you mean, Luna? How do you-"

"I was at the Malfoy Manor for months, Ronald. It was just something I happened to run into." She murmured, beginning to wrap a bandage around his knuckles and wrist. Ron felt guilty, for a moment ago he was ready to berate Luna for her comforting him. He felt guilty because even though the locket was gone, he could still feel a lasting effect on him. Never in his life had he been this volatile.

"I'm sorry, Luna." He muttered gruffly, standing.

"It's quite alright," She said before standing. She and Ron had been sitting at the table in the kitchen. "I think perhaps I'll go look in on Mr. Ollivander, he had a harder time than I did."

**XXX**

Through the haze of her addled mind Hermione could hear Fleur speaking to Bill. She sounded worried, Hermione wondered why. Bill was talking about someone, saying death was better than insanity. Hermione wondered who was insane.

In the back of her mind she could hear a sinister hissing. She tried to avoid it, but whenever she let her guard down her mind would be disrupted. Hermione felt as if she were trapped in the most sinister of nightmares, this particular nightmare grew worse whenever the voice was allowed free, even for a moment. It brought waves of unbearable pain that sometimes caused her to shriek audibly.

She replayed Bellatrix's interrogation over and over. If it could be called an interrogation, for patience seemed to be a virtue Bellatrix lacked.

Bellows of "CRUCIO!" echoed through Hermione's head, causing her to shift uncomfortably.

She felt sick to her stomach, her entire body ached. She was completely exhausted and felt as if she had just run a marathon. Maybe two. She didn't have the energy to open her eyes.

Her arm burned, too, and after a brief contemplation she remembered why.

Bella's last method of torture, after Hermione had absolutely refused to speak, had been to harshly engrave the word _MUDBLOOD _into her forearm.

This had only added insult to injury.

It was also the last thing she remembered before losing consciousness altogether, the sight of the foul slur scratched into her, along with Ron screaming her name as she fell from Bellatrix's threatening grasp.


	3. Be Okay

_**"Show me the sidestreets in your life,**_

_**train yards like boneyards, sharpened knives,**_

_**sidewalks are unassuming fields"**_

_**- "Good Ol' Fashioned Nightmare" by Matt & Kim**_

**XXX**

_The cold air whizzed past Hermione's face, not far in front of her were her parents, their skis cutting paths through the snow with an expertise she had begun to share. They were laughing, Hermione grinned, as they propelled themselves forward with greater speed. She increased her speed, almost drawing even with them, still laughing giddily. The sky suddenly grew overbearingly dark. Mr. and Mrs. Granger directed their attention towards the change in the weather. Hermione noticed, but her parents did not, a swarm of dark cloaked figures rush from the trees. They didn't seem solid, they weren't tangible people, until they landed in front of her family. There was a blinding flash of green light, Hermione lost control and tumbled down the hill, joined moments later by her parents, whose lifeless eyes gazed at the sky, which had begun to turn back to the brilliant, winter blue it had been previously._

In her state of unconsciousness Hermione remembered a Christmas vacation she and her parents had taken some time before her going to Hogwarts. Before she had known she was a witch, and that before she was even an adult her world would be irreparably shattered. At some point her vivid nightmares had begun to plague her memories. Instead of dreaming while in her injured state, she merely recalled memories of her life, but each and everyone was destroyed by the same sinister menace that attempted to dominate her mind.

She had to tell herself it wasn't real. The ruined memories seemed so much more real than any actual memory she had. They haunted her. There were visions of her parents dying, slain by Death Eaters, who rose from nothing like hawking clouds of evil, in almost every memory she had from childhood. Once the childhood memories had been exhausted, she could only imagine moments with Ron or Harry or the Weasley family… a peaceful family breakfast, perhaps, where the door would be kicked in and everyone slaughtered before her eyes.

She realized her greatest fear was losing those she loved, naturally, but what came secondary to that was the sudden repulsion to the great clouds of blackness serving as a precursor to the attacks. Every time she saw these shadows she began to shake, terrified beyond belief.

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger realized she was legitimately afraid of the dark, and for the first time in her life, Hermione Granger was surrounded by an insurmountable darkness, unsure of when, or if, she would escape.

**XXX**

Ron watched out of the back window as Harry furiously dug Dobby's grave. The small corpse was wrapped in a clean pillow case, it sat only a few feet from where Harry was digging.

Ron felt a tug of remorse. He had offered help to his friend, who had refused it almost instantly. He felt positively useless. Harry was digging a hole in the ground to bury the creature who had single-handedly saved the lives of six others, Hermione was upstairs dying.

Dying… It seemed impossible to think about her dying. Ron felt tears begin to sting his eyes again.

Harry had always had a strange but loving connection with the elf, but he couldn't bring himself to focus on anything but Hermione.

Beautiful Hermione… Ron's stomach quaked ferociously and his head spun. He was never going to have the chance to tell her how he truly felt about her.

When he had abandoned his friends and fled he had rehearsed how he would return. He would confess his love to Hermione, but upon seeing her the well-rehearsed words had fallen away.

And he hadn't been able to think of any plausible way to bring it up.

Ron pounded his wounded hand against the table, immediately regretting the decision.

He had lost courage. Hermione would never hear what he had to say.

As he put his head in his hands he heard someone approach him, it was Bill,

"If you want you can come upstairs and see Hermione," he said. Ron jumped up so quickly the chair almost toppled over and impatiently brushed at his eyes where tears had begun to form. Bill stopped him. "Ron, don't expect too much."

Ron strongly disliked the meaningful eye contact Bill gave him. His heart had leapt, he assumed Hermione was awake and lucid. Bill's expression told him otherwise.

Even so, he drew himself to full height a trekked up the stairs.

**XXX**

The door to the guest room swung open before Ron had reached it. Fleur was leaving the room. She carried a handful of bandages, a bottle of Essence of Dittany, and a blood soaked rag. She gave Ron a half-hearted smile.

"She's calmed down," Fleur whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. "I don't know when she'll wake up, call me if you need anything." Ron nodded and swallowed nervously

Ron quietly entered the room. It had grown dark, and a small lamp next to the bed provided the room with a soft, yellow light.

Upon seeing her, Ron's heart immediately thudded fast, his breathing hitched. She was almost motionless, her breathing was shallow and slow, her skin too pale. Ron hadn't noticed how exhausted she looked, the circles under her eyes resembled bruises and her lips were pale. Months of living on the run had reduced her to a thinness that bordered on alarming.

But still, she managed to look beautiful. Like a tragic ingénue. Ron sat in the chair that had been placed near the bed and crumpled forward, tears of shame stung his eyes once again.

He sat there for what felt like hours, but there was no change. He was unsure of what he had been expecting. Was she supposed to magically awaken when he entered the room?

At some point, he drifted off.

**XXX**

Bill came down from the upstairs looking obviously agitated. Fleur, who was reading in the small sitting room, raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you look so cross, Bill?" she said, her tone slightly annoyed.

"I don't understand why he thinks it's doing any good to just sit up there and stare at her!" he growled in a low voice.

This was the fourth time Bill had come back from checking on Hermione with the same complaint. Fleur had brushed off the annoyance at first, but now Bill's lack of sympathy was infuriating her.

She snapped her book shut and stood.

"You don't understand," she spat. "And how could you! You've never had someone you love so close to death, have you?" Bill looked ashamed. He unconsciously touched his scars. "You mustn't be so harsh, Bill." Fleur added, her tone softened.

"I'm sorry, Fleur." Bill nodded, crossing the room and encircling her in his arms. They stood in silence. Fleur rested her head against his shoulder, withdrawing when her tears had soaked through Bill's shirt.

"I'm so scared for all of them, but my heart will break if Hermione never has the chance to learn how your brother feels." Fleur whispered.

**XXX**

Later that night, when everyone was in bed, Bill went to the guest bedroom to check on Hermione one last time.

He opened the door and was startled.

Ron was still seated in the wooden chair, his torso slumped on the bed, his hand gripping Hermione's. The other arm was draped across her middle.

Bill smiled when he noticed Hermione's breathing was normal, some of her color returned.


	4. Scars

_**"I want to change the world, instead I sleep,**_

___**I want to believe in more than you and me,**_

_**but all that I know is I'm breathing"**_

**_- "Keep Breathing" by Ingrid Michaelson_**

**XXX**

_Hermione walked several feet in front of Ron, he trudged dutifully behind her. To her right, a decent distance away, walked Harry. They weren't speaking to one another. In fact, they hadn't spoken for hours. They walked in utter silence, none of them had the energy to speak._

_Currently, Harry was wearing the locket. _

_Whoever was wearing the locket was seldom spoken to. It had not been that way at first, but after the first week it became too trying of a task to reason with whoever was being put into the manic depressive state the locket forced the wearer into. They cared for one another, but at some point it had become exhausting to buoy the emotions of the others._

_As they walked Hermione turned back to Ron. His arm that had been splinched ached and he made a small frown at Hermione, who furrowed her eyebrows. She slowed down for a moment, waiting for Ron to draw even, and when he did she handed him the bottle of water she had been carrying._

_Harry didn't turn to them, but both Ron and Hermione could feel his disdain towards their closeness permeating the air. Hermione squeezed his hand reassuringly before speeding back up. _

_It was best to skirt quietly around whoever was wearing the locket._

Ron sat up with a jolt. He rubbed at his face, there were indents from where the blanket had pressed into his skin. He checked the clock next to the bed, it was just after three in the morning. He groaned and sat up to the best of his ability, keeping a firm grip on Hermione's hand.

To his surprise, when he pulled away to stretch, her hand tightened, almost imperceptibly on his.

"Hermione?" he whispered, lunging forward. Her face was much less pale than it had been, she looked much less pained, though her eyebrows knit together, although this was typical, Ron had learned, for her when she slept.

There was no reply, but Ron still swore he had felt her hand move. She wasn't going to let go.

**XXX**

At last Hermione had pulled herself free. Well, almost free, there was no way she would ever be able to shake the dark phantoms Bellatrix had inflicted upon her mind. But she was so much closer to the surface. She felt as if she had been trapped for eons, battling the worst figments of her own imagination, which had been aided and abetted in their terrible manifestations by the mind ruining effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

She was certain she had escaped without going mad. She felt someone clinging to her hand, they had been there for so long, she forgot when they had attached themselves to her. She had no idea who it was, but she desperately hoped it was Ron, she desperately hoped he wouldn't leave. At one point the hand seemed to slip, and though it took all of her energy to do so, she focused everything she had into gripping tightly to it. He wasn't getting away. Since the arrival of the hand, Ron, whoever it was, the nightmares had been on the retreat.

She felt so close to the surface, and when her name was called she knew. It was him. She could have cried from relief.

"I'm not going to die… I'm not mad…" she muttered to herself. Unbeknownst to her, these words were audible to the boy who had kept his silent vigil at her bedside throughout the night.

**XXX**

This time, it was Fleur's turn to check on Hermione. She had lightly pried herself from Bill's grip around her waist, reluctant to leave him, but at the same time glad to awaken. She had been having the most terrible dreams all throughout the night. She dreamed of when Bill had been attacked by Greyback, his life hanging inches from death.

There were two things in her life Fleur had taken painstaking measures to forget. Her sister's close encounter with death during the Triwizard Tournament, though Fleur had learned her sister would not really have died at all, and Bill's savaging by the werewolf. When she thought she had lost her sister it seemed as if her world might end. Not only had she lost the challenge, and perhaps her shot at glory, she had lost the person she loved most in the world.

And when she thought Bill was going to die…

Fleur shuddered as she reached the top of the stairs, quietly opening the door to the guest bedroom.

Ron was still there, she had been able to guess as much, but he was staring at Hermione with an alarming manic fervor.

"Ron?" Fleur said, crossing the room to him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Fleur! Hi!" he said, gripping more tightly to Hermione's hand.

"What is going on?" Fleur asked, her eyes narrowing. Perhaps Ron was being affected to strongly by the thought of Hermione's loss… after all, he had been witness to her torture less than twenty four hours previously.

"She talked!" Ron said, his eyes burning brightly with hope. "She said she isn't dead and that she's not mad!" Fleur gave him a pinched smile and nodded.

"Right… well, let me have a look at her arm, I should change the bandage." Ron reluctantly relinquished the hand to let Fleur have a look. He peered over her shoulder as she unfurled the bandage.

The skin of Hermione's forearm was red and angry, the lettering of the word 'mud blood' stood out viciously against the pale skin. Ron hadn't realized how deep the cuts were, they still seemed fresh.

"How's it look? A little better, yeah?" he asked, earning him a silencing stare from Fleur.

"It could look better. The only difference between now and earlier is that it's not actively bleeding." Fleur raised the bottle of Essence of Dittany that she had brought with her. After opening it she tentatively allowed a few drops to fall onto the cuts. They made a soft fizzling sound, though appeared to make no effort to close. In fact they seemed to grow redder.

"What's wrong?" Ron queried, taking in Fleur's worried expression.

"The Dittany… it isn't working," said Fleur, scowling. After a moment she turned to Ron. "Do you know what was used to make these?" Ron swallowed.

"Bellatrix had a knife, she tried to slit Hermione's throat with it. Then she killed Dobby with it." Fleur had a sudden look of realization.

"The knife downstairs?" Ron nodded. Harry had brought in the weapon and set it on the table before retreating to the room Fleur had set up for him. Fleur had examined it for previously, and now she shook her head. "That blade, it was goblin made."

"Okay?" Ron said, uncomprehending. Fleur smiled sadly.

"It cuts human flesh very easily. It can't be magically healed, and once it does heal, the scars can't be removed. They can't be concealed either, not magically, and not in any other manner."

"So… she'll have that for the rest of her life then?" Ron growled, his eyes darkening.

"Yes, she will." Fleur responded, not looking at Ron. She had begun to put fresh bandages on the wound.


	5. The Middle of the Night

_**"If you could only see the beast you've made of me,**_

_**I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free,**_

_**Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart"**_

_**- "Howl" by Florence + the Machine**_

**XXX**

Harry tossed about on the bed Fleur had made for him in Shell Cottage's small study. He hadn't been able to sleep, and probably wouldn't be able to. He was positively sick with shame and worry.

Dobby had died to save him. The brave, foolish elf had thought the price worth the effort of saving Harry, but Harry simply couldn't count the exchange as even.

While he was heartbroken over Dobby, he felt he could die because of what had happened to Hermione. He had heard his best friend being tortured; he had stood helpless, locked in a dungeon, unable to do anything to help her. Ron had almost gone mad from the sound, and Harry felt unbearable about this as well. He had seen his best mate angry many, many times, as Ron was often a prattish person, but his reaction to Hermione's treatment by Bellatrix had been extremely shocking to Harry. He would go to his grave swearing that Ron had almost ripped the door off its hinges and very nearly put holes in the stone walls. What had made him feel the worst of all, however, was that it was entirely his fault that Hermione had been in the aforementioned situation.

Ron and Hermione were the best friends any person could ask for. Harry used them as a crutch and leaned on them more than he thought was necessary and it was times like this he knew he was wrong for allowing himself to do so. If he wasn't so dependent on them, Hermione would have been safe somewhere, hiding herself expertly from the Ministry.

He swore loudly to himself and looked at the clock. It was well after three in the morning, the bed that had been made for Ron sat empty.

Normally, Harry would have gone looking for him, but he didn't think he could bring himself to face the inevitable scene he would find upstairs in the guest bedroom. He couldn't bear to look at an unnaturally serious and grief-stricken Ron, nor could he bear to look at a silent and wounded Hermione.

He rolled onto his back. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he had gotten Hermione killed. Ron wouldn't forgive him either. To Harry, the feelings Ron and Hermione had towards each other were painfully obvious, and if they never got the chance to admit to one another how they felt…

Harry rubbed his temples distractedly. At least Ginny was safe. As far as he knew.

**XXX**

Upstairs, Fleur had just left the room.

She sighed heavily. Hermione looked promising, despite the marking of her arm, but Bill's pessimism had begun to creep over Fleur. It was taking so very long, and like Bill had said, at a moment's notice everything could very easily go to hell and with his expertise, Fleur knew it would not be wise to ignore him.

She slipped back down the stairs, setting the bottle of Essence of Dittany on the table, as well as the spare bandages, before she made her way down the hall back towards her own bedroom. As she passed the study she thought she heard Harry say something, but it was evident he was not addressing her.

She hurried past with pursed lips and upon reaching her room she opened and shut the door with a quiet click. Bill was sitting up in bed. He was absentmindedly feeling the scars plaguing the side of his face; it was almost like a nervous habit he had developed. Fleur knew he was not embarrassed by them because of the way they changed his appearance, he was ashamed, she had learned, that he had let his guard down long enough for Greyback to have attacked him.

"Why are you awake?" she muttered. She kneeled beside him on the bed, pulling his hand away from his face. Bill looked startled; Fleur had pulled him from a reverie.

"Sorry," he replied softly, running the back of his hand against Fleur's cheek. It was so different from his own… She seemed to know what he was thinking and gave a terse smile. "I was just thinking about what you said, about Ron and Hermione." Fleur's expression shifted, she looked distraught.

"Bill, this is all so awful." She whispered. His hand was now at her chin, tilting her face towards his. He gave her a soft kiss.

"I know." He replied. She didn't seem to calm.

"I hate this! Why are we hiding? We should be out with the Order doing as much as we can." She spat, her French lilt becoming more pronounced. He kissed her again.

"I know."

"We sit here every day and do nothing because we're Weasleys-" Bill had to admit he liked hearing her mention his surname so possessively. "We could do just as much by butting our heads against a brick wall!" She was practically hysterical.

Bill knew Fleur hated the way the Order and shoved them aside. In fact, the whole Weasley family had been placed in what was supposed to be a protective sort of lockdown. Bill and Fleur had been forced to quit their jobs, rendering them the most useless of the family. The Order didn't want the Weasley family attempting to aid them in any way, not with Ginny at Hogwarts and so much of the family employed at the Ministry. After a great deal of resistance from the family they had conceded, the risk to their children, Arthur and Molly had decided, was not worth it. Fred and George had, of course, managed to skirt around the Order's wishes, but as for Bill and Fleur? They had been sent to Shell Cottage, which was under dire protection, and told to keep their heads down.

Unwillingly, they had obliged.

Still, Bill placed another kiss on his wife's lips.

"I know."

He smiled though. Though his mum resented the Frenchwoman, he knew she'd be proud when she realized that underneath all her misconceptions lay a woman with true Gryffindor spirit.

**XXX**

Hermione jerked violently on the bed, causing Ron to jump. He had been pacing the room, and the sudden movement had alarmed him. He almost ran to her, but stopped himself.

It was like Bill had warned him. For all he knew, Hermione was getting worse, but this failed to stop him from staring intently at her, waiting for further movement.

He had almost turned away when he heard a noise. It was so quiet, it was practically inaudible. In fact, perhaps he had hallucinated it…

"Ron…" Hermione breathed, causing Ron to feel immediately cold. No, he wasn't hearing things. Losing all self-control, he bolted to the bed and immediately dropped to his knees beside her restless form. His hands shook as he took her hand and enclosed it in his own.

**XXX**

_He's still here… don't worry, he wouldn't leave…_ Hermione practically shouted at herself. The thoughts echoed uncomfortably around her head. It still felt as if someone was setting weights on her skull, but it was nothing like what it had been.

The voice and its demons had retreated to the darkest corners of her mind, chased away by Ron's presence and her comforting memories of him.

But it seemed as if he had gone. Fleur had been there, tending to her arm, she knew, but had she taken Ron with her when she left? She had probably sent him to bed…

_Yes, but with or without her being in it as well? She's a tricky one…_ hissed the voice. Hermione was repulsed that it had returned. She would prove it wrong.

"Ron?" she called weakly, not sure if anyone could hear her. When there was no response, she tried again. And again. She heard footsteps. And then, in what she intended as a shout, but was really no more than a whisper, she called again.

Deliciously warm hands encircled one of her motionless, cold ones. And if she tried her damndest to open her eyes she swore she could see a flash of ginger hair…

"Ron…" She said again, this time more forcefully. And at last, her eyes, which ached mercilessly, forced themselves open and made contact with the eyes of Ron Weasley.

Immediately, she felt pangs of relief and a wave of sadness. He looked so tired.

Never in her life, however, had she been so grateful to open her eyes.

Almost immediately she began to sob. Immediately, Ron drew her into his arms, dragging her from the bed and into a crushing embrace.


	6. The Beach

**_"You are free now,_**

**_you're with me now,_**

**_where you'll always be"_**

**_- "Finale" from Jekyll & Hyde_**

**XXX**

_The worn leather couch creaked as Hermione shifted in her sleep. Ron looked to her as he pulled on his boots, it was time for he and Harry to exchange watch positions. Ron had tried to wake her earlier, to get her to move to her bed so she could sleep more comfortably, but he had also understood when he failed to even get her to blink. They were all so exhausted, and he realized she maybe even more than Harry and himself. Admittedly, they were a bit selfish in allowing her to care for them as well as spend every bit of free time researching, reading, and pondering the Horcruxes, as well as taking shifts on watch. Her sleeping position seemed almost uncomfortable; her legs rested on the back of the couch, elevated, and she had an arm curled around her head, her face buried in the crook of the elbow. Her copy of __Magick Most Evile__ lay on her stomach, open to the page she had been reading before she had lost the battle with the desire for sleep._

_Ron sighed and stood. This was the most peaceful state he'd seen her in since returning from his brief... sojourn away from his friends. When he'd returned he had found an obviously more distressed, manic Hermione, though she tried to hide it from Harry and him. She seemed jumpy and nervous. He had tried to talk to her about why, but she still seemed to want nothing to do with him, after all, he'd only been back for two days. When he had asked Harry, his only response had been "well, you kind of rattled her a bit there, mate."_

_Rattled her? He had rattled her? He groaned, the familiar feeling of guilt creeping over him as he replayed the scene of his departure. He had heard her screaming after him, calling for him to return, but he had gone anyway. And he knew she didn't want to seem like a silly boy had made her feel that way. Or at least that's how he hoped she thought, she was probably just put off at him not listening to her. _

_His eyes flicked to the only clock in the tent. It was five before five, he should get to Harry. Hermione muttered in her sleep, her expression changing from serene to troubled, her lips parting slightly as she muttered in her sleep. Whatever she was dreaming about now troubled her, and when she sleepily whispered his name, the distress still evident on her face, he felt his ears burn. _

_Very carefully, he moved the book off of her to the end table near the couch, taking care to make sure it remained open to the page she had been on before drifting off. He very carefully lifted her legs from the back of the couch, stretching them out in what he thought was a more comfortable position, and took her wand from beside her and put it beneath pillow on which her head was propped. He knew she always slept with it there. Taking a blanket from his own bunk he covered her, making sure to tuck it tightly around her sleeping form. It was bitterly cold that night, and though she had enchanted the tent to be a steady seventy degrees, he didn't want to risk her getting sick._

"_I'm sorry," He muttered to her sleeping form. Regarding his work for a moment he turned towards the entrance of the tent. "Harry, mate, it's my turn."_

Ron awoke, someone was shaking him. He groggily opened his eyes, peeling his face away from the pillow.

"Come on, Ron, move over," he recognized his brother's voice. "I need to see her." Ron sat up, realizing he hadn't been sleeping on a pillow, rather he had fallen asleep in a wooden chair, his head resting on the edge of Hermione's bed.

He remembered the night before. Hermione had cried and cried, until finally she was unable to do so anymore. Ron had held her, then held her hand as she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Sitting up, he massaged his neck. Bill looked at him questioningly.

"She woke up last night, she was upset and I accidentally fell asleep in here..." stuttered Ron, attempting to explain why he was still in the room. Bill waved a hand dismissively.

"I'm not Mum, Ron, it's alright," Bill laughed, admiring the remarkable shade of red his youngest brother had managed to flush. "Besides, you were just making sure she's okay. How did she seem when she was awake?" he asked as he removed the bandage put in place by Fleur the night before. Ron, who had stood and moved the chair, ran a hand through his chair.

"Er, she just sort of cried..." he muttered uncomfortably. Bill gave a strange sort of snort. "She ended up not being too out of it, though. She hasn't gone mad, at least."

"Try not to sound so put off by the crying, she had a rough time." chided Bill, casting a cleansing spell on the wound.

"Fleur says it's not going to heal well." Ron grumbled, his eyes narrowing at the word cut into Hermione's arm. Bill nodded.

"It'll leave a scar, I'm just making sure it doesn't get infected." Bill said, beginning to wrap her arm in a new bandage. The brothers were silent for a long moment, the sound of Hermione breathing lightly filled the room.

"So you think she'll be okay?" Ron asked nervously, breaking the quiet. Bill stopped his ministrations and eyed his younger brother. He seemed to wrestle with what to say for a moment.

"Well, you said she was lucid, so I'd say she's safe, for the most part," he turned back to the bandaging, finishing it with a flourish. "But there'll be scars, emotional ones, but the question is if you'll see them. Hermione's a strong woman, she'll hide them. We're all bloody lucky she didn't go mad, I talked to Harry, it wouldn't have been unlikely for her to have cracked with what Bellatrix put her through." Ron nodded.

"She'll never let on how much it's affected her." He asserted. Bill stood to leave the room.

"You'll have to be there for her."

"I've always been there for her." Ron snapped defensively.

"Come on, you need to change and eat." Bill said, acting as though his tone hadn't startled him, leading Ron reluctantly from the room.

It wouldn't be until much later that Ron understood precisely what Bill had meant.

**XXX**

Downstairs, Fleur felt like she was running an orphanage for the most ragtag looking group she could have ever imagined. There was Luna Lovegood, who she could remember from her wedding, a boy from Hogwart's named Dean Thomas, Ollivander the wandmaker, a goblin named Griphook, Harry Potter, and her husband's youngest brother, Ron.

She had managed to make all of them an appetizing breakfast. She had no illusions that cooking was her speciality, and when she had managed to churn out several plates of bacon and eggs using magic, she was immensely proud of herself. Though she was a bit disappointed in herself for finding pleasure in being a good cook, as she had never imagined herself as a typical housewife. Griphook refused to take his meal with the rest of the group and insisted on remaining upstairs and being served. Ollivander was much too weak to sit at the table with everyone, and Fleur had delightedly delivered food to the old man's room. She couldn't pretend that she wasn't happy about having visitors, Shell Cottage, for all her wonderful time spent with Bill, had a tendency to sometimes feel very lonely when it was just the two of them. Besides, it was nice to have direct information from the outside where the war still raged.

"Sometimes you could overhear them planning at the Manor," said Luna, addressing Fleur, who had been delicately inquiring about her time spent at the Malfoy's home. "We heard them talking a few nights ago about how they thought they'd found some of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's old campsites. They started tracking you, hoping you'd say You-Know-Who's name."

"Well surprise, surprise..." Ron said through a mouthful of eggs, directing a meaningful, but joking glare at Harry, who rolled his eyes and went back to moodily jabbing at his food. Fleur, and everyone else, had noticed the dark demeanor that had settled over Harry since their arrival at Shell Cottage. Fleur had been legitimately shocked when he had agreed to emerge from his room for breakfast.

"Well, anyway," Fleur asserted, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the table. "I had Bill get out the beach chairs, it's nice enough to go outside if you want." She said, at a loss for what all these people were supposed to do. She didn't know how long they would be there, and was completely uncertain how she was supposed to keep them entertained.

"I love the sea!" Luna exclaimed dreamily. "Harry, won't you come for a walk?" she asked the sour boy seated to her left. He jumped when she said his name.

"Oh, alright." He agreed reluctantly, standing almost too quickly from the table.

**XXX**

Luna and Harry walked side by side down the beach. The air was mild, there was a breeze that could have easily been mistaken for balmy the way it carried the smell of salt with it. By no stretch of the imagination was it warm enough for a swim, but it was a pleasant temperature, winter was obviously coming to an end.

Harry's hands were stuffed roughly inside the pockets of his jacket, while Luna let her arms swing at her sides, watching the sky as she walked. Harry stared at the ground, regarding the scuffle marks in the sand from the day before where they had landed. The blood they had brought with them had been washed away by the sea.

The silence in which they walked was not uncomfortable. Silence around Luna was never uncomfortable, it was peaceful, thought-provoking, and it was nice to not have a tentative air of awkwardness hanging about, Harry thought. He was sick of people who tiptoed around him, scared of his inner demons or something.

"So Harry," Luna said, her large eyes fixing on him. "Tell me what you're thinking about." She commanded softly.

"Er, nothing really..." he began, stopping himself. He needed someone to talk to, but he was constantly pressed with the worry that no one would be able to understand. "Actually, Luna, would you say Ron and Hermione fancy each other?" Luna giggled loudly and Harry stopped, staring at her. He was mildly offended. "Why's that funny?" he grumbled, scowling. Luna stopped walking as well.

"Oh, Harry, you're as dense as Ronald." Luna said, and Harry couldn't help but feel silly, after all, being made a fool of by Luna Lovegood was a hard feat to accomplish.

"I am not!" he retorted.

"Isn't it obvious? They love each other! Hermione's not going to tell him, though, she's very obviously waiting for Ronald." Harry stared at her, his expression darkening.

"I almost got Hermione killed, Luna." He felt unnerved, Luna merely stared at him.

"Don't be silly, Harry. You think you put us all in danger by being our friend. Think about it: Ron and Hermione could've walked away from you years and years ago."

"This is different."

"It's not, I promise. They love you. I love you. Everyone on our side loves you, we risk our lives because we think we should. You have to understand that."

**XXX**

When Hermione woke up again Ron was gone. This time, however, his absence did not fill her with gut-wrenching anxiety. He would be back, she knew.

Besides, she was embarrassed about the way she had cried in front of him. She never cried in front of him, she hated to cry in front of _anyone_, she hated how weak it made her look.

Slowly, she sat up. Instantly she regretted it. Her head pounded ferociously, her mouth was completely dry, and her eyes ached. Her throat was positively raw from screaming. Not to mention how the rest of her body felt. Quite literally, she felt as if someone had attempted to kill her by clubbing her to death with a cricket bat. Her muscles felt like they had been tensed longer than was healthy, an obvious aftereffect of the curse, and her arm, which she remembered Bellatrix cutting with a knife, burned mercilessly. Dark magic had been used on it, that much Hermione could discern without looking at the wound, which had been covered by someone with a copious amount of gauze.

Someone, probably Fleur, had made sure she was wearing comfortable clothes, but Hermione shivered in the thin, long-sleeved shirt. She felt very weak and very ill. In fact, she felt exactly as if she had the stomach flu. She withdrew her arms from their spot on top of the comforter, turning on her side to burrow down inside the thick blankets. She lay there shivering, her stomach churned, and she felt nauseous. There was a cold sweat breaking out all over her. Hermione groaned audibly, curling into the fetal position.

She tried to remember what she had read about the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. There were supposed feelings of weakness, mental throes, physical aching... Hermione heard the door open, and peeking over the edge of the comforter saw Ron enter the room. Her heart, which had already been beating slightly too fast, accelerated, an she managed to smile weakly, though he could only see the top of her head and eyes.

"You're awake!" he exclaimed, carefully balancing the tray of food he had brought with him. Hermione rolled her eyes at the tone, it was painfully obvious the part he had left out: awake and not crying like a madwoman.

"Hi." She said weakly. The smell of what was on the tray reached her, causing her stomach to growl loudly.

"Fleur made you soup, she sent me to make sure you eat it all." He said bashfully, seemingly embarrassed about the tender expression on his face.

"That shouldn't be a problem." Hermione managed to croak, slowly sitting up once again.


	7. Mudblood

_**"I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart,**_

_**but you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start,**_

_**you put your arms around me, and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go,**_

_**you put your arms around me and I'm home"**_

_**- "Arms" by Christina Perri**_

**XXX**

Hermione was greatly surprised by Ron's tenderness. After all, this was the same boy who had, in all the years of their friendship, proven to be outrageously insensitive and quite typically male, especially towards her. And yet in the last few months, as the times grew darker, Hermione could feel a change in his demeanor, most noticeably towards her. He complimented her and made an effort to avoid his typically frequent untoward comments. For all of this, she definitely felt silly for noticing. After all, perhaps he was generally more mature. And still, she felt it meant something more... they were becoming closer, or had been until he'd disappeared, but she was close with Harry and she'd never fallen asleep holding _his_ hand the way she had Ron's, first at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and then many times since...

Whenever she caught herself focusing too intently on the tender moments shared between them she scolded herself. In all honestly, who really cared? How could she care when the world in which everyone she knew and loved was in imminent peril? She had gone throughout her entire adolescence without feeling _anything_ for either Harry or Ron. Well, that wasn't true. Since her third year she had felt different towards Ron. Harry was like the brother she'd never had, caring, sensitive, and a truly admirable companion, whilst Ron had been a prat; argumentative, irritating, and cruel, at times. The year before, when Ron and Lavender had been an item, simply looking at him had possessed the ability to put her instantly into the foulest of moods, ready to lash out at anyone who looked at her the wrong way. Yet when she and Ron did get on, as infrequently as that had been, it had felt as if everything was right in the world. It wasn't until the last summer that she had realized.

She loved him. She loved him despite how much they had fought since they were thirteen, despite how much he had upset her throughout the years.

Hermione felt silly and childish whenever she put thought into this.

Besides, who was to say Ron felt anything remotely similar towards her? And how could he have so easily left her and Harry, especially when Harry needed him so much. She didn't _need_ him, per say, but his sudden, almost violent departure had left a gaping hole in her, one she hadn't thought would ever completely heal until he'd returned. Those feelings had made her feel even more than stupid. She was the 'brightest witch of her age,' she didn't need anyone.

"_Hermione, would you come look at this?" Ron timidly called, sounding a bit like a wounded child. Hermione had only minutes earlier barked at him for using the Deluminator while she read, snapping angrily at him after the lights had gone off and then back on for the seventh time. Grumbling, she closed her copy of __The Tales of Beedle the Bard__ and placed it on the end table with more force than necessary._

"_What, Ronald." She said flatly as she approached the table, sitting down heavily next to him on the bench. He was absently opening and closing the Deluminator, but he no longer clicked the button that caused it to remove light from the room._

"_I've been looking at this," he said, spinning the device to show her a small symbol on the bottom. It was a small heart, surrounded in a circle, which was inscribed with runes. In fact, he had one of her rune dictionaries propped open on the table before him. "I'm trying to figure out if this is what brought me back. I want to know if somehow Dumbledore knew that I'd-"_

"_You can't have seriously made me get up for this." She practically spat. He had only returned a few nights before, Hermione still refused to talk to him ordinarily, but she realized it was hard to avoid someone when you're the only two people in a room._

"_I'm just trying to work it out!" he said defensively, glancing back at the book. Hermione stood suddenly from the bench, causing it to skitter backwards slightly._

"_Does it matter? You're back. Apparently, your heart is just that magical." She sarcastically stated, her voice laced with venom, but she felt a strange pang in her own heart as she watched his face fall._

"_I just wanted to know what type of magic-" he began, attempting to explain. Hermione cut him off again._

"_Is it so hard to believe that it was some freak occurrence!" Hermione felt offended. After all, Harry had told her about Dumbledore's belief that the only thing keeping him protected from Voldemort was a strange power that love held over the malicious Dark Lord. Was it honestly so hard to consider that if love could protect a person from one of the most evil men of all time, it could transport someone back to where their heart belonged? Ron had said the Deluminator had her voice._

_For once, Hermione Granger was infuriated by logic. This didn't have to be logical, as much as the thought disturbed her. _

"_Come on, Hermione-" Ron had stood, he was beginning to approach her, but she backed away, quickly putting several feet of distance between them. "How long are you going to be mad at me for?"_

"_I couldn't tell you." Her eyes were narrow, she had managed to put the couch between them. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. They had gone through this almost every night since she had started speaking to him again. They would manage to have a tentative relationship when Harry was around, but the second it was the two of them alone, they managed to return to where they had left off, never managing to get any farther than Hermione claiming to be mad at him and then refusing to explain._

"_You know, you could stop being so bloody vague."_

"_You could stop being so bloody thick." Hermione held her breath. This was the point in the argument where it always restarted. He was going to ask her again how long she'd be cross with him, never asking why she was, just for how long he was going to be forced to endure it. She hadn't noticed him somehow inch around the end of the couch, what had kept him at bay._

"_I'm sorry, okay!" he half-shouted, sounding exasperated. "Just because I haven't come out and said it doesn't mean I don't know! I feel like shit about what I did, and I didn't want you to still be mad even after I've apologized, alright?" he was shouting in earnest now, and Hermione's eyes were large. Only Ron Weasley would bellow his way through an apology. She didn't realize she was crying until Ron brushed his hand against her cheek._

"_You scared me." She choked stubbornly, moving his hand away from her face. "You left me-" Hermione stuttered. "I mean __**us**__ all alone! What if you had been caught! And what if someone had noticed you weren't at the Burrow, what about your parents? That was very selfish." Her voice was shrill._

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Don't ever do that again, Ronald. Do you hear-" _

_Ron reached out and drew Hermione to him, crushing her against his chest, and cut off her admonishment. He held her tightly to him._

"_Never again."_

**XXX**

Ron watched as Hermione shakily made her way through the bowl of soup. He knew better than to offer to help her, even in her weakened state she probably would've managed to remove his hands or cause significant bodily harm at the suggestion of being fed.

He hated to admit it, but awake she looked to be in much worse shape. She was still marginally paler than her normal skin tone. The freckles which traversed the bridge of her nose stood out against her unhealthy pallor. Her entire body seemed to shake, moving at all seemed like it took far too much effort. Dark, dark purple circles under her eyes seemed emphasized, her lips were a few shades darker than white.

Of course, she acted as if she felt fine, and when she finished eating Ron took the bowl downstairs, where Fleur gave him the bottle of Dittany and spare bandages, telling him he could probably manage to look at Hermione's wound himself.

"Hermione, could I have a look at your arm?" he asked when he returned to her, softly shutting the door behind him. She seemed startled every time someone entered the room. It seemed as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. After a moment, she seemed to pull herself out of a reverie.

"Oh, yes. Sorry!" she exclaimed sheepishly, offering him her bandaged arm. She attempted to pretend that she didn't inhale sharply in pain when he began to unwind the bandage, blood had soaked through.

"Sorry," Ron said softly, attempting to me more gentle. Her face had paled even more, but she managed to respond through gritted teeth.

"It's alright," but Ron looked at her questioningly. "Really." She choked. Ron had gone back to removing the bandage, it was easy to hide how woozy she had become. It only bothered her that the blood, _all_ that blood, was her own.

Hermione remembered Bellatrix with her knife. After magic had been unable to wrest any information from her, Bellatrix had decided to go with a form of interrogation more familiar to Hermione: "muggle torture."

**XXX**

"_You're a pretty girl, Granger. Passable enough, for a Mudblood. You wouldn't want me to change that, would you?" Bellatrix cooed, standing over Hermione. She stared down at the girl, who laid flat on her back, eyes wide. Tears streamed silently down her face. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, she couldn't move. She struggled to breathe._

_She watched with muted horror as Bellatrix drew out a sickly looking knife and placed her wand somewhere inside her robes, running the edge of the blade against her index finger. Hermione watched the motion, hypnotized._

"_Do you like this, Granger? It's a pretty little thing, goblin made, you know, passed down through the family," she crouched down, forcing the blade directly in Hermione's face, causing her to flinch. The motion sent waves of agony through her. "See, there's the crest." _

_Standing back up, Bellatrix paced a few feet away from the girl. Turning slowly, she faced her once more. They both stared at the knife, one in contemplation, the other in fright._

"_I have a question, Granger," the older witch began, walking back towards Hermione's incapacitated form. Her vision was beginning to swim, Bellatrix's face seemed to twist into shapes not possible. The Cruciatus Curse was beginning to harm her mind, Bellatrix appeared more demonic in Hermione's twisted conscience. "Since my way of questioning didn't appear to work on your silly, brave little self, what would you say we did things the Muggle way?" She was standing directly above Hermione again. She was waiting for a response._

"_I already told you!" Hermione managed to spit._

"_LIAR!" Bellatrix lunged forward, Hermione raised her arms to protect herself. At first, she managed to hold Bellatrix away. They struggled for a moment, Hermione's body screamed wildly in protest. Bellatrix seemed to only grow more enraged, and as soon as she was able, planted a kneee on Hermione's chest, crushing the air out of her._

_Hermione had begun to cry earlier without knowing, but now she began to sob in earnest. Bellatrix ripped Hermione's hands away from her throat, Hermione hadn't even realized she had put them there. She realized that she was fully prepared to choke Bellatrix. To death, even, if it meant she was able to escape._

_Her arms fell, stretched out to both sides. She couldn't find the strength to draw them back in, her shoulders felt as if they had been torn from the sockets. Snarling, Bellatrix used the knife to tear open the left sleeve of Hermione's shirt._

"_Mudblood. M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D." Bellatrix hissed, tracing the letters with the point of the blade. Hermione shivered and felt her stomach turn. Bellatrix's eyes were positively gleaming with malice, when suddenly, Hermione felt a hot, searing pain in her forearm._

_**You haven't asked me anything!**__ Hermione shouted inside her head. Betweem Bellatrix's knee in her ribs and her shriek of pain, she couldn't actually challenge Bellatrix's reasoning._

"_I did that because you irritate me as a person, Granger. I'll add the 'U' for the fun of it."_

_This time, the pain was thousands upon thousands times worse. Her scream was deafening even to herself. Bellatrix sneered disdainfully at Hermione's pain. As soon as the pressure was released on her chest by Bellatrix shifting, Hermione found her voice._

"_PLEA-" The cry was cut short. Bellatrix was suddenly close enough that she could have kissed Hermione, her voice now a low, sinister whisper._

"_That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts, how did you get it?" Hermione's only response was a broken sob. Infuriated, Bellatrix grew closer. "What else did you and your friends take from my vault!" Her voice rose, she was screaming in Hermione's face._

"_We didn't take anything..." Hermione whimpered. "Please, I didn't take anything!" _

_Bellatrix paused, holding completely still, surveying Hermione's reaction. The girl began to shake, she was petrified._

"_I don't believe it." _

_Bellatrix was back at her arm with the knife, and after a moment, Hermione realized the absolutely inhuman screaming was her own._

**XXX**

Hermione jumped approximately a foot in the air when Ron called her name for the fourth time, almost succeeding in knocking the bottle of Dittany out of his grasp.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" she cried. Her voice sounded strange, she realized she was crying. Again. "Here." She held her arm back out to him, but all he did was take her hand.

"Oh, Hermione." He moaned, haphazardly tossing the Dittany, cloth, and dirty bandages onto the night table. "I just finished doing that, I mean, I know you weren't paying attention..." Without thinking, he kissed her palm and drew her into a crushing hug. "It's better, it'll be better." He murmured into her hair, and then, thinking what he was doing, jerked away. "Sorry."

Ron looked up from where he was kneeling next to the bed. Hermione's eyes were rimmed with red.

"Did I tie that too tight?" he asked, standing. He fiddled with what he had put on the nightstand. He wasn't entirely sure, but he could've sworn he saw her roll her eyes at him.

"It's fine. Don't be sorry." Ron smiled sheepishly and sat down next to her on the bed, drawing her into a hug.

"Right."


	8. Sunshine

**So I can't even BELIEVE how long it's been since I updated this. I know this is a small compensation for the length of time I've been away, but I'm going to get this thing back in the swing of things. I'm going to work on the next couple chapters and have a couple put up by the end of this month, if anyone's still interested.**

**I'm still really, really interested in writing about this, and I'm going to see it through to the end, so I hope there are still some of you left (:**

**Please, if you are, leave me a review so I know someone out there is still reading!**

Hermione groaned, rolled over, and opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed into the room, particles of dust dancing lazily in the beams. She had always thought that there was something oddly beautiful about the way dust hung in the air like that, when she was younger her father had called it "pixie dust." She smiled sadly at the thought of her parents.

Her mind felt surprisingly docile.

One thing Hermione Granger loved was waking up to the sun, and in England that could be something of a rarity. Waking up to the sun made her feel at ease, like even the most formidable task could be accomplished. It made her feel that even though the entire world could be crashing down outside her window at least all was not lost. Something about the bright, dry warmth could trick her, only if for a moment.

The moment failed to last any extensive amount of time, Hermione became acutely aware of the rawness of her throat, the throb of her head, and the cold prickliness creeping across her skin. Shivering, she turned towards the middle of the bed, drawing the blanket towards her.

And there was Ron. He was asleep, one of his arms trailing benignly towards the center of the bed, his head bent to accommodate a space for her own on the single pillow. Hermione felt her heart jump to her throat, and just as quickly as it had made the awkward lurch, it seemed to melt. The cold, uncomfortable tingling was replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of creeping warmth.

"Shit." She breathed, not quite sure what else to do.

**XXX**

As the bed shifted, Ron Weasley opened his eyes. They were met in return with another pair. Wrapped in a blanket, Hermione was peering at him with a look of such supreme tenderness that he almost felt naked. She looked almost distraught, but the play of the reflected sun revealed an obvious happiness and hopefulness.

_Ron knew it would not take a very long time for Hermione to fall asleep. Having been witness to her fitful unconsciousness, he knew there was no way that could actually be classified as rest. _

_He had sat down after drawing her as gently as he could towards him. There was something about her that was so terrifying. There was just so much he wanted to say._

_He allowed himself to think for the first time since arriving at Shell Cottage how he would feel if he were not afforded this opportunity because she had not survived. Or she had turned out to not been "all there," as Bill had said to him many times, this being his euphemism of choice. He could not imagine her as anything less than his dazzling, tenacious, bright Hermione. His? Yes, his._

_After she fell asleep and he felt it hard to battle the heaviness of his eyes, he laid down slowly, allowing her to stay situated as she had been before. Ron slipped quickly into sleep, Hermione's head buried in the crook of his neck. _

And just as quickly as he realized it, the look disappeared. He cleared his throat, looking at the clock just behind her.

"I'd say good morning, but it looks like we've slept for quite some time." He managed, good naturedly. Hermione still fixed him with the same strange stare, moving the blankets to allow her to sit up. She looked at the clock herself.

"It's almost one, and no one's come to wake us?" She queried, sounding slightly put off. Ron couldn't help but let out a snort.

"You act like you've never had a lie-in before, Hermione," she managed a stunted laugh, looking like she might give him another treatment of that odd look. "You needed that sleep, anyway. You look loads better, I reckon that's the best I've seen you sleep since we've gotten here."

Hermione felt her face flush, though Ron didn't seem to notice, as he was in the process of standing. She couldn't believe how at ease he seemed with the situation. Any sign of affection from him was usually accompanied with an almost off-putting display of awkwardness, though it was endearing at this point.

"I bet Fleur'll have some food for us down there," he stated, starting towards the door. "And uh, sorry about... you know, staying the night." He rubbed the back of his neck, and Hermione almost snickered to herself. He was still her Ron, no matter how chivalrous and protective he had been the night before. The tops of his ears were slightly pink, he looked at her expectantly.

Though the feeling had not dissipated, not even in the slightest, the warm sensation creeped back through her, making her heart lurch with even more force than before. Just as she thought she could manage a calm, polite reply, she felt herself speaking without any plan of what she was going to say.

"Ron, I'm actually really, er," she paused, feeling slightly frantic. "I'm really glad that you'd do that for me, you know, stay the night and..." Ron was looking at her so expectantly, only serving to perpetuate the awkwardness. "Thank you, is what I mean." She finally exclaimed. Everything from the past forty eight hours had left her feeling so rattled, so bewildered.

Ron took a step towards the bed.

"You know I would do anything for you." Hermione thought she had misheard him, perhaps. He stepped closer, and just as soon as he was close enough that she thought she would perhaps ask him to repeat himself, or kiss her, the door creaked open slowly.

A tousled mop of flaming red hair poked in, quickly accompanied by a grin.

"Good, you lot are up," Bill Weasley stated, innuendo creeping into his voice as he noticed the proximity of Ron to Hermione. "Hermione, love, so glad to see you alive and kicking!"

Hermione gave him a nervous smile.

"Let me just have a look at your arm and then I'll let you get freshened up, if you'd like." Hermione nodded graciously. It noticed that Bill had a strong hint of Molly Weasley in his manners, he appeared to her a younger, male sort of mother hen.

She also noticed as Ron slipped out the door behind Bill, the tips of his ears red as his hair, as he shut it behind him.

**I promise to have new things to be read very, very soon. Thank you to those who kept the faith! And if you didn't, I hope you find your way back to my story! It would mean so much!**


	9. Secrets

Soon after Bill left the room Fleur entered. She smiled softly at Hermione, who could not help but feel a pang of jealousy towards the other woman's easy beauty. She couldn't even fathom what she might look like, and though she didn't much care, she was positive it was much less than impressive.

"How are you feeling?" she asked cautiously, moving to unwrap the bandage from Hermione's arm.

"Definitely better than earlier." Hermione replied, laughing derisively. Fleur snorted as well, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I'm very happy you are okay, Hermione," the younger girl couldn't help but smile at the way her name sounded with the French accent. It sounded very much like how her grandmother said it. "Ron needs you. Harry, too. I can't help but think they would be lost without you." Hermione shook her head as if to say "_you have no idea," _which caused Fleur to smile kindly once again. Fleur's smile faltered, though, considering how Ron would have reacted to the loss of the witch.

Hermione couldn't believe how much she had _hated_ Fleur when she was fourteen.

"Do you want to have a look?" Fleur queried, and Hermione realized she had finished unwinding the dressings on her arm. She sighed and swallowed, holding her breath. Finally, she looked.

"It's not too bad, is it?" she asked softly. This assertion was true. While the mark was alarming, it wasn't the series of bloody gouges she had last seen at the manor. "I guess it's a nice job of it." Fleur shook her head.

"It was a goblin made blade, I can't get rid of the scars."

"Well, it's what I am. I can't be ashamed of it." Hermione's eyes flashed fiercely, and Fleur laughed.

"_Mais oui, _and I am but a Veela!" Hermione shot her a scathing look. Surely being a Veela was not a mark of imperfection by any means. "Part of me is not human, so I am looked at as a lesser being. But now is not a time to be afraid of what you really are." Hermione felt a surging of pride, Fleur was right, and she was a much braver woman than Hermione had ever given her credit for. When they had first crossed paths, Hermione had viewed her as a vapid, attention mongering wench.

"How's Mr. Ollivander?" Hermione queried, eager to turn the subject to something else.

"He is very weak, but he'll recover," Fleur paused, Hermione pretended not to notice the narrowing of her eyes. "Everyone is alright, Hermione. I'm here to make sure you are. You don't look well."

"Well considering the circumstances..." Hermione retorted, the corners of her mouth pinched in a sarcastic smile.

"I am being very serious with you," Fleur said, quite exasperated. "You are too skinny, you look like you haven't slept in months," noticing the scowl she was being given, Fleur softened her expression. "I'm sorry, I don't know when I turned into such a mother."

"You sound like Molly." Hermione affirmed, causing Fleur to laugh. She waved her hand as if to dismiss the idea.

"You should take a shower and come downstairs, I'll leave some clothes in here for you." Fleur produced a towel and washcloth from the closet on the other side of the room and handed them to Hermione. She exited the room, and after she had done so Hermione stood. Her vision swam and her head began to pound. She felt so unexplainably weak, she wanted to lie back down, but instead swallowed, took a breath, and headed for the door.

**XXX**

Fleur couldn't help but jump when Ron all but tackled her as she finished descending the stairs. She pressed a hand to her heart and removed her other hand from her wand, where it had instantaneously flown.

"_Mon Dieu_, Ronald!" she gasped. When he had stepped unexpectedly in front of her she had panicked, convinced that her worst fear was finally coming true. Fleur spent her days, and oftentimes nights as well, worrying that the Death Eaters had finally come for her and her William, though these thoughts occupied nearly half as much time as thoughts of her family and the Weasley family being attacked.

Ron smiled shyly, and Fleur had an inkling to forgive him for frightening her. She already knew where this conversation would lead.

"How's Hermione?" he asked somewhat breathlessly. Fleur rolled her eyes and led him to the other room.

"She's in the shower, and she's just as well as she was when you saw her ten minutes ago!" Fleur replied, taking a seat at the table. From their she lazily directed a kettle to fill with water, placing it easily on the stove next. Ron was looking at her with wild eyes. Fleur thought his obvious and shameless devotion to Hermione was very amusing, especially considering his reluctance to admit it.

"Yeah, but what'd she say? I'm worried she might not tell me something." He was clearly becoming distraught, and while Fleur normally would have enjoyed toying with him, she motioned for him to sit down.

"You are making me nervous, Ronald!" He obliged, looking rather grumpy as he did so. They sat in silence for a moment before the kettle whistled. "Tea?"

"You sound like my mother, Fleur." Ron huffed, sounding every bit as annoyed as he appeared to be. Forgoing the use of magic in order to get closer to the young man Fleur stood, crossing towards the cabinets to get down multiple sets of cups and saucers.

"Answer a question for me," Fleur said, turning as she began, not giving him a chance to accept or reject the proposal. "How do you feel about Hermione?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he responded, looking thoroughly confused. Fleur shrugged and turned back to the cups. She had been half hoping for a full fledged confession of love. It was painful to watch the two interact with one another. She could not imagine the pain the other would feel if something were to happen before these feelings could be addressed. "She's one of my best mates." He finally replied. Fleur quickly envisioned flinging a cup at his head, but she sighed, maintaining her patience as she carried two cups back to the table for them.

"In the same way Harry is your friend?"

"No, it's different." He corrected quickly, looking stunned at the admission. Fleur wondered what the trouble was. Did he really not see?

"Why is that?" she asked idly, stirring sugar into the steaming cup. Ron's mouth contorted slightly as he considered the question, mimicking the same action as Fleur.

"I dunno, because he's a bloke, I suppose," he paused to blow on the tea. "And she's Hermione, I... it's just different." Fleur tutted when he shrugged. She wanted to shake him.

"And what if you lost her?" Ron's eyes flashed, a look of grief ghosting across his face.

"I almost did." He admitted finally, his voice sounding thick. Fleur frowned.

"It could happen at any time, you know that. What if there's something you've never said?" Ron looked down at the table, he looked suddenly very far away.

"You know?"

"Of course I do, do you know what it was like to watch you over the holidays?"

Ron had been in a state of anguish. He spent his time interrogating Bill on the methods of tracking those using magical concealment, and every time he was reminded that the wards their group had been using were too strong he seemed to move into a deeper, darker place. The last couple nights before he had departed Fleur had seen him playing with the Deluminator, obsessively removing and restoring the lights in the room they had given him.

He had been mean, and in so much distress that Fleur's heart had ached _for_ him. She had heard him mutter Hermione's name in his sleep whenever he managed to achieve rest.

He had told multiple stories of the trios adventures throughout the years, always downplaying his own role, and even Harry's, making Hermione's contributions the shining and most important parts.

Ron, too, remembered his time away from his friends. There had been a painful, throbbing ache in his chest the entire time. He felt that if anything happened to them without him there he would most likely die. He had wondered if he would have been able to tell by some great shift in his mind, would some force out there in the ether have made him aware?

He had replayed his departure from the tent over and over and over again in his mind. He regretted his cruelty towards Harry, but despite his harsh words, he could not rid himself of the look on Hermione's face as he turned to leave. What was even worse, though, was the memory of her expression as he disapparated.

Even recalling the memory caused his chest to grow tight.

At the Manor, though, he felt as though he might explode, if that were possible. Never in his life had he felt so worthless and angry. He had been certain that he would be able to batter his way through the walls of the cellar. The more Hermione screamed, the more he clawed and kicked and fought.

Ron shuddered. Imagining her in need of his help, and him unable to aid her, made him feel suddenly very, very ill.

**XXX**

In the bathroom, Hermione stole a glance at herself in the mirror, laughing in disbelief at how positively awful she looked. Despite the superficial dirt from the run through the forest and the messy apparating journey to Shell Cottage, she was covered in small scrapes and bruises. On her throat there was an almost healed gash where Bellatrix's knife had been.

She sighed and used her wand to turn on the shower, steam slowly began to fill the room.

Hermione turned to look at her back. When she and Harry had fled Godric's Hollow the night Voldemort had attempted to kill them she had been forced to propel the two of them through a window. Harry was unconscious, and he had landed on her as she hit the ground. Shards of glass had pierced her coat, but she quickly transported them both back to the tent. It had not been until after she had tended to Harry that she had attempted to clean her own wounds, and while she had been able to remove the glass, she could not pride herself on the job she had done with the Dittany. Even now the wounds were not completely healed, having had to resort to the Muggle way of repairing themselves. She had not seen it necessary to have Harry help her, though, and she grimaced as she managed to catch a glimpse of the series of gashes at the top of her back.

She was paler than she could ever recall being, and the dark purple shadows on her eyes contrasted vividly with her pallor. Her eyes seemed puffy and heavy, she hadn't had a chance to really accept how exhausted she was.

Shedding her borrowed pajamas, she stepped into the shower, hissing as the hot water hit the many cuts and scrapes scattered across her body.

She quickly washed her hair and scrubbed carefully at her body, stopping to admire Bellatrix's handiwork. All traces of blood had washed away in the stream, and she was left with a series of raised, pink marks. She darkly contemplated, and grew frustrated with, the fact that Bellatrix's handwriting appeared to be quite appalling.

As she inspected this, she noticed, what she had neglected to see before. Both of her wrists were wrapped with darkening bruises in the shape of large hands.

"_Now, now, pretty thing, hold still for Auntie Bella!" the woman cooed, the sound of her voice creating a rising feeling of nausea in Hermione. There was the sound of a dark chuckle from behind the witch, who was struggling somewhat to keep Hermione pinned to the ground. She had managed to mark five of the eight letters, each one becoming progressively more illegible as Hermione became more violent in her battle to resist the pain._

"_She's a squirmer, isn't she?" Hermione quivered at the sound of Greyback's voice, remembering Greyback's earlier question to Ron. As he had led Ron away she had heard him ask if he would "get her" once Bellatrix was done._

"_Hold on her down for me and you'll get to find out later, Greyback." Bellatrix cackled. As the werewolf drew into view Hermione saw him lick his lips. The urge to vomit had never been stronger. His eyes glinted evilly as he moved to hold her arms, pinning them easily above her head. Bellatrix continued her questioning. _

_Hermione realized it was at this point she had seen fit to use the Cruciatus Curse. She struggled uselessly against Greyback's grip, writhing in pain as much as she could while held to the ground._

Memories of disgusting suggestions made by the male Death Eater floated through her mind. Threats to "tear her to pieces" and "fuck her" until she "couldn't live" were among the most tame.

The feeling of being at his absolute mercy caused Hermione to drop to her knees in the shower, a strange sob tearing through her chest.

"_You know you're all mine when she's done with this, right, Hermione?" Greyback had whispered in a smooth, sinister voice. The sound of her name on his tongue was repulsive and she shuddered. There was a lull in which Bellatrix was talking to someone, her voice sounding far off and shrill. "Can't you hear your little ginger friend going mad? He's upset I'll get to have you first, probably. But it just takes the stronger man, you see..."_

_Greyback had gone on and on for so long that Hermione had almost been relieved when Bellatrix returned. She had willed herself to die. She would go mad before he touched her. Or, perhaps, some last-ditch bit of strength would allow her to kill him. Any reprieve from his sexual diatribe was welcome._

Calmly stepping out of the shower, Hermione turned and vomited into the toilet before wrapping herself in the thick towel she had been given, and feeling not in the least bit clean or restored by the shower, she miserably made her way down the hall to get dressed.

As she reached the room, she began to cry. She would never be able to tell Ron, though he had heard some of what Greyback intended. She knew how miserable he had felt about not being able to help her, and the added threat to her integrity would only serve to make him feel worse about something she wished to forget.

This broke her heart.


	10. Fleur & Hermione

**One of these days my chapter won't begin with a million apologies about lack of updates! Read and review if you're so inclined!**

Eyes rimmed with red, Hermione slowly made her way down the stairs of Shell Cottage. Every step jarred painfully against her sore body, her bones ached.

The last step creaked to signal her arrival and Fleur, who had been staring absentmindedly through the window above the kitchen sink, turned to greet her.

"Feeling better?" she queried, a cup of coffee clutched in her hands. She looked tired and drawn as well, her smile somewhat pinched.

"Definitely." Hermione asserted. And she did to an extent. The nausea was gone, she was standing. Fleur gestured for her to sit down.

"I've just started dinner, it should be ready at seven or so. Would you like tea or coffee?" Hermione immediately realized how uncharacteristically hungry she was. She noticed the stove housed several bubbling pots and a delicious smell wafting through the kitchen.

"I would _love_ coffee, I'm exhausted." Though Ron and Harry preferred tea, Hermione's French grandmother had ingrained in her a long-lasting love for a good cup of coffee.

"Cream, sugar, Firewhiskey?" Fleur fired off the additive options so quickly that Hermione almost missed the last one. She gave an odd laugh and Fleur gestured towards her own mug. "Not that I would have any of us turning into alcoholics, but it is rather calming."

"Why not?" Hermione asked rhetorically, watching Fleur add a healthy dose of the drink to her coffee, followed by a small spoonful of sugar.

"I always liked you Hermione," Fleur mused as she handed the cup to the girl, proceeding to take a seat at the table across from her. "Even though you were not very fond of me for quite some time," Hermione opened her mouth to interject, finding herself silenced by a wave of flippant Fleur's hand. "You're very smart."

"Er, thank you," Hermione replied, looking curiously at Fleur, who seemed to wish to continue, though she seemed lost in thought. In the meantime, Hermione sipped cautiously at her beverage. She looked through the window above the sink, off in the distance she could see two lanky men with red hair slowly making their way back to the cottage. Just near the grey water of the sea she saw Luna standing, Dean sat in the sand watching her.

"Harry dug a grave for the house elf, it's around the other side of the house. He's been sitting there since breakfast." Fleur stated flatly as a way of answering Hermione's unspoken question.

"Dobby's dead?" Hermione hissed, she felt a sharp pang of guilt.

"_Oui_," Fleur asserted, giving a small, sad shake of her head. "I remember you being very fond of their kind." Fleur mused sympathetically. Hermione bristled.

"It's not that I'm _fond_ of them... their lack of rights as members of the wizarding community is disgusting," hearing how overly-indignant she sounded Hermione heaved a sigh. "And Dobby was always so… helpful. He loved Harry. And now it's our fault he's died." She grumbled, taking a long gulp of the spiked coffee. Fleur was watching her with a thinly veiled curiosity; Hermione couldn't help but feel as if she was under observation.

"Sacrifices are going to be made, those closer to you than Dobby may be casualties as well," Fleur couldn't help but notice as the younger witch's gaze drifted back out the window. "It scares me, having all these people I know so closely involved. All these people I love. And William…" the Frenchwoman's eyes had become glossy, though she blinked away any actual tears in what Hermione was sure was a very practiced routine.

Hermione, who had begun to stare rather diligently at the space behind Fleur's left ear, felt her eyes sting as well. She felt very sick to her stomach once more, a heaviness settling in her chest.

"You've just said I'm smart, Fleur, I know what you're implying." Hermione snapped miserably. It wasn't as if she had never considered her feelings towards Ron before. She thought back to how distraught she had been over his abandonment.

It's not like she had imagined how their first kiss would be, or how she would feel when he told her he loved her.

Obviously, she had never thought of him pulling out her chair as they went on a date, or how she would finally convince him to read her favorite book, Hogwart's: A History.

If Ginny ever tried to make her do something stupid and girlish, like look at a wedding magazine, she would _never_ imagine herself walking towards a ginger groom.

Or how much more painful losing him would be if she were to actually experience some of these fantasies, only to have him ripped away by Voldemort.

And she never, ever thought about how gaping the hole in her heart would be if she lost him. It's not like she was so terrified and dreadfully expectant of the notion that she could feel a phantom pain in her chest that prophesized how terrible and unbearable the real sorrow would be.

But of course she had. And she'd built what she'd hope would be an impenetrable wall to shut out the potential for grief. And what was the use in getting ahead of herself? She couldn't imagine Ron feeling anything similar, he probably thought of her just as she thought of Harry. She had always been "one of the boys," never really feminine enough to capture his interest. He was probably still interested in Lavender Brown, the epitome of girlishness.

Recently, though, she had felt a shift that was seismic in proportion. The days following Ron's return to the trio had been filled with the uncomfortable tenseness of unspoken words. And now, at Shell Cottage, there had been such unexpected tenderness, but nothing more than that. He was definitely just being nice to make up for upsetting her before. She never wanted to lose him, not even as a friend, at least he returned the sentiment to that extent.

Only when Fleur handed her a newly conjured tissue did she realize tears were slowly sliding down her face. She hastily wiped them away, finding that no more came. She had given so much thought to the scenario that it was easy to head off the outward display of emotion.

"You know Bill and I married so quickly because we aren't sure how long we're going to have each other." Hermione shook her head.

"But you and Bill were going to get married anyway," Hermione retorted. "You're the worst Fleur, you don't need to play matchmaker because you're all sorted and happy." Hermione laughed. She was joking, to an extent. Fleur smiled wryly. "It isn't the right time, either. We have a duty to help Harry."

"You're too smart for your own good, _ma petit_, you have feelings for Ron and you're too scared to say anything."

"It's not like he's said anything either." Hermione snarled, actually becoming irritated for the first time.

"I believe he wants to." Hermione drained the rest of the coffee, wincing as she finished it, as most of the liquor had settled to the bottom.

"Fleur, I don't think you understand our relationship. They both think of me as a sister, we know each other too well, it's literally like we're related. I'm not his type, anyway." The rolling of Fleur's eyes was almost audible.

"Hermione, you and I both know it's not true. You're trying to explain this away, there's no explanation to be found. You can't ignore your feelings. And he's not going to ignore his for much longer. Are you going to turn him away if he comes to you?" Fleur asked hesitantly, thinking back to the similar talk she'd had with her brother-in-law a few hours ago.

"I might," Hermione sighed, tears threatened to return. Her heart felt too jumpy, fluttering anxiously as she watched Bill and Ron draw even closer to the house. "It's just not the right time, and if he doesn't feel the same way things will be so awkward… think of how distracting that would be. It's entirely improper."

"You're willing to live every day with the possibility of your life ending at any moment but you can't even concede letting a boy know you fancy him?"

The pair lapsed into silence, a sour look plastered on Hermione's face.

She was running across the country looking for Horcruxes and attempting to save the world, and yet here she was, with Fleur nonetheless, discussing a boy.

She had never felt quite so… _Lavender Brown_ in her life. She damned Fleur for making discussing the matter with Ronald sound so pressing, but she had to give her credit for not immediately launching into more discussion about what had happened at Malfoy Manor.

At the creaking of the front door and the sound of Bill and Ron entering the house Fleur sprang from her chair and immediately went to the stove.

"More coffee, Hermione?" she questioned innocently as Hermione hastily used her sleeve to remove any vestiges of tears. She nodded to Fleur, who added an even healthier dose of Firewhiskey and returned the mug to the girl.

"What are you lot up to?" Bill asked as he stepped into the room. Fleur shrugged, giving Ron and small wave and Hermione a pointed look, which thankfully escaped the younger Weasley brother's interest.

"Finishing dinner, talking to Hermione." Fleur responded noncommittally. Bill crossed to her, landing a peck on her cheek. Ron sank into the chair that had been previously occupied by Fleur, eyeing Hermione carefully. Had she been crying?

"Have a nice talk?" he grinned, recalling Hermione and Ginny's disdain for Fleur in the previous years. Of course they'd gotten over it, but it still amused him greatly.

Hermione flushed a bright shade of pink and took a large gulp of her drink. The innuendo in his voice was clear; obviously Bill knew what they had been discussing. How perfectly humiliating. Was he going to bring it up in front of an audience?

"Lovely," she finally replied, her voice almost cracking. "How was your walk?"

"Brilliant!" he responded, his voice chipper and has face wearing a look of utter confusion. Hermione seemed to teeter in her chair, unsure of what to do next. An instant later she drained her mug and stood, almost toppling the chair.

"I think I'll go for a walk as well!" she said, addressing no one in particular, and exited hastily the way she had seen Bill and Ron enter the house.

Fleur, who had been facing the stove, turned and revealed tears of laughter streaming down her face. Bill looked pained.

"That was horrific." He asserted.

"What just happened?" Ron barked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Fleur snorted.

"Why don't you go for a walk as well?" his brother's wife asked.

"I've just gone on one!"

"Ronald, really," Bill snapped. "I wasn't giving you advice for the sake of hearing myself talk."

Grumbling, Ron stood. Hermione was quite honestly the most confusing person he had ever met. Just the night before she'd acted like seeing him was her dying wish.

Still, he felt compelled to follow her, so he grabbed his jacket from the hook next to the door and followed her out back onto the beach.


	11. Miscommunication

"_**But with all my education,**_

_**I can't seem to command it,**_

_**And the words are all escaping,**_

_**And coming back all damaged,**_

_**And I would put them back in poetry,**_

_**If I only knew how,**_

_**I can't seem to understand it"**_

"_**All This and Heaven Too" by Florence + the Machine**_

* * *

**Oh Jesus, two updates within the same month?! Bear with me guys, I think this thing is finally back on the rails.**

**Read, review, & I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Hermione practically jogged down the beach, walking closer to the outcroppings of rocks that lined the left side to avoid Luna and Dean. The wind was picking up and the sky was overcast. Though she supposed the surroundings of Shell Cottage were rather beautiful on a sunny day. The sand was cool under her bare feet.

She felt, altogether, rather uncomfortable and ill at ease. There was a buzzing numbness pervading her body, her palms felt sweaty, and she wiped them anxiously against the thin material of the pajama pants she'd borrowed from Fleur. Had it not been for the alcohol she'd consumed she would have actually been rather cold.

**XXX**

Ron followed along behind Hermione at a markedly slower pace, observing that the speed she used was usually reserved for making it to class on time. She had yet to realize he was following, which made him feel rather creepy, but it's not liked she'd given him a chance to catch up. He didn't know what he would say once he did catch up to her, though, and because of this allowed her to increase the distance from the cottage and himself.

She probably didn't even want to see him right now, judging by her harsh reaction to seeing him in the kitchen. He didn't really feel safe, though, letting her out of his sight.

**XXX**

The renewed aloneness brought back the unbearable loudness inside her head, the memories of what had transpired at the manor. Bellatrix's threats and Greyback's… promises. Her own screams echoed along with Ron's long off bellows.

Suddenly, there was an excruciating tightness, beginning first in her chest, then spreading to her arms and legs. It felt like being electrocuted, it felt horrific.

She slowly sank to the ground, the jolt of the cold, damp sand made it easier to concentrate. She laughed ironically, recognizing it as a residual effect of the Cruciatus. Painful as it was, it couldn't compare to the real thing. She shuddered and took a deep breath, looking back towards the house.

And of course, there was Ron, who'd seen the whole thing and had begun to sprint towards her.

**XXX**

Watching Hermione fall to the ground Ron felt his throat tighten, running to close the distance of twenty or so feet between them.

She regarded him warily.

"What the hell was that?" he cried, the alarm undisguised in his voice as he sat down next to her.

"Do you mean what happened in the kitchen or just now?" she asked benignly. She wasn't surprised when his face flushed.

"Both!" Hermione shrugged and shook her head. "Are you okay?" his tone was softer, sounding genuinely worried.

"That, Ronald, is a loaded question." She laughed bitterly, and for that Ron had no response, so the two sat in silence basking in the sounds of the sea and wind. A few minutes passed in silence and then Hermione shivered, casting a nervous glance back towards the house. Ron could have kicked himself as he remembered the jacket he'd brought for her, which sat discarded at his side.

"I brought this for you," he stuttered, marveling at his thoughtlessness. She smiled and from her look of bemusement he drew some hope. He draped it around her shoulders and she relished in the momentary warmth of his encircling arms, then they were gone. Ron cautiously balled his hands into fists to mask the shaking, though when looked at Hermione he could swear she blushing. He began to stare at her, the more the silence enveloped them the more troubled she looked, absently and anxiously biting her lip.

Hermione knew she should have felt more at ease with Ron sitting next to her. His presence had become so comforting, but her whole body seemed to vibrate with words she dared not speak. There was so much to talk about. He really had asked her a question that she couldn't answer, at least not easily. There was the Manor, there was what had happened with Bellatrix, there was the war itself, of course, and then there was him.

Ron Weasley should have been the absolute least of her problems. Fleur and Bill seemed to act like they were in on some sort of joke, like it was obvious. Then there were all the offhand comments made by Harry over the course of their journey and the way he had acted when Ron disappeared, like she was made of glass or had lost someone who was more than just a friend. She didn't know if she was being delusional or being sensible.

And of course after the twisted mish-mash of feelings and thoughts towards her ginger companion was the renewed feeling of constantly bubbling anger. At the beginning of the hunt it had been there, then replaced by a constant feeling of anxiety. After months of no contact with her friends at Hogwarts, her friends on the frontlines, and plenty of time spent relishing in the moral atrocities of everything Voldemort stood for.

Even though she was doing everything she could to assist Harry in the Herculean task laid before him by Dumbledore she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't doing enough. After all, they'd only managed to destroy one Horcrux, and even though they now knew the location of another one it was hard to feel like that was enough.

"I'm serious Hermione, are you alright?"

Tearing her eyes away from the ocean she found herself looking into Ron's. Her resolve crumbled immediately. She barely managed to suppress a sob.

"Everything is _wrong_," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. "I remember when I was eleven and I was so excited because I was 'special,' but I never really was, was I? I'm a pariah for reasons I can't help, look what I've got to show for being special," she snarled, tugging at the bandage covering her left arm. Ron's eyes widened in alarm and he shot out a hand to stop her. "'Ostracized for your oddities from the world you were born into and despised by the world that was supposed to accept you,' that's what the locket told _me_," Her tone had risen considerably and her chest heaved in anger. A bright red flush spread across her cheeks and her eyes gleamed with malice. Ron looked ready to interject and Hermione quickly snapped at him. "Don't interrupt me!" His face flushed red immediately, and interrupt her he did.

"Bellatrix doing that to you doesn't make it true! You're too fucking brilliant to believe that." Ron's voice sounded pinched, expecting Hermione to reply with angry words. Instead, her face softened and tears sprang to her eyes.

"It's not just me, obviously, being hated," she muttered, brushing furiously at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm being selfish though, aren't I?" Ron shook his head.

"Not at all, and anyway it's my opinion that you haven't been selfish enough. You just take of Harry and I and look what it's gotten you," Hermione opened her mouth to reply, her eyes narrowed. "No, you always have. You're always pulling the three of out of whatever mad trouble we've gotten ourselves into." He said earnestly. Hermione's laugh was soft, but she leaned into Ron after the comment, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I was so scared," she commented after another lengthy pause. "Like, really, really terrified. I've never been so frightened in my life."

"Neither have I," Ron muttered and Hermione pulled away to look at him. "I've seen a lot of scary shit, but that was by far the worst."

"Are we talking about the same thing?" Hermione asked flatly, brow knit in confusion, her tone indicating a readiness for anger.

"You being tortured by Bellatrix? Yeah, I think we're on the same page," _Well it's now or never, isn't it? _ Ron berated himself silently. "I knew I was going to lose you."

"Well you didn't." Hermione enunciated, looking at him as if he were a complete moron. Then, a strange, sarcastic smile twisted the corners of her mouth. It was Ron's turn to be angry.

"It got pretty fucking close!" he bellowed, jumping to his feet. "It's not a joke!" he persisted, for she appeared to be close to laughing at his agitation. Hermione stood slowly, observing him carefully.

His face was extremely flushed now, his blue eyes searching hers for some sort of reaction. There was a nervous fluttering in her stomach. Ron's pulse pounded in his ears, was he going to have to spell it out for her? The two regarded each other warily.

"I'm not laughing about it." Hermione said, shrugging her shoulders. Ron literally stomped his foot in annoyance.

Hermione's heart thudded in indignation. He was going to lecture her on her rather non-committal approach to the whole situation. She had admitted her fear, yes, but she'd be damned if she moped about it in front of him. In front of anyone, really.

"I like you, Hermione." She felt her heart plummet, deciding a sarcastic answer to be the only appropriate one. She should have known not to expect too much.

"We're friends Ron, I hope you like me." She snapped. Tears stung her eyes, but she swallowed hard to fight against them. _Of fucking course, better luck next time, Granger._

"You're being intentionally thick and you know it!" he moaned, his stomach clenching in anxiety. He thought he'd finally figured it out, that Hermione fancied him, and here she was brushing him off like he was Frankie First Year.

"Don't _ever_ call me stupid, Ronald." She spat, mentally kicking herself as soon as the words left her mouth. _What an ingenious response_, she thought. The desire to _literally_ take off down the beach at a run was overwhelming.

"I'm not calling you stupid!" he cried, throwing his hands up in agitation. She shouldered past him. She had absolutely no desire to not only be rejected, though he had no idea he had done, and chastised. Ron grabbed his jacket from the sand and stalked after her. Enough was enough; he quickened his pace and planted himself firmly in front of her.

"What I meant is that I'm very fond of you," he intoned, grabbing for her hand.

_As we have already ESTABLISHED, _she shouted at him inside her head, yanking the desired appendage out of reach and stepping around him. She should have known better than to think she was _ever_ going to win romantic favor with Ron, though she was loathe to admit she was so upset with the defeat. She needed to make it back to the cottage before she burst into tears, there was a tangible pain associated with her learning the true nature of his feelings. It stung and it ached at the same time and she felt like a silly, simpering schoolgirl.

Ron stared after her at a complete loss for words. A mischievous voice that sounded much like the one belonging to his twin brothers interjected a thought: _third times the charm, mate._ Ron huffed and jogged to Hermione, who was clenching and unclenching her fists as she walked. She looked as pissed at him as he'd ever seen her.

"LOOK!" he shouted, grabbing her by the upper arms. "I am TRYING to tell you that I like you," her eyes flickered dangerously; he hadn't much time to make a recovery. Hermione, on the other hand, was near spontaneous combustion. She was so very upset and so _very _angry, and now Ron presumed to physically _prevent_ her from walking away?

_Like me as what, Ronald? A friend, a sister? The person who consistently and conveniently saves your ass? _All thought of romantic feelings from him towards her had completely flown, she would have known by now, anyway.

Ron bit his lip and his resolve melted away. Without hesitation he crushed his lips against hers, heart pounding like mad and definitely expecting to be punched in the face.


	12. French

"_**On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose,**_

_**Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses. **_

_**On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud que de nos chagrins il s'en fait des manteaux pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit"**_

"**Quelqu'un m'a dit by Carla Bruni"**

**Merry Christmas, all!**

Harry quietly observed Luna and Dean from his vantage point next to Dobby's grave. Luna was splashing around rather wildly in the water, he saw Dean throw his head back, his laugh drifting across the beach towards Harry. Harry was surprised to hear him laugh at all, they'd only been freed from Malfoy Manor and already seemed to be regaining happiness.

A wave of fresh guilt washed over him. Dean Thomas had always been a good friend to Harry, kind and fair. He'd never imagined that Dean would have gotten caught up in the mess he'd created. Luna, either, for that matter. Feeling rather drowned by his guilt, though, he decided to make his way towards the pair, he didn't quite feel like being alone.

As he drew near Dean turned to look at him.

"Hello, Harry. Doing alright?" Dean asked as Harry sat down in the sand next to him.

"Yeah, alright. How are you doing?" Harry questioned. Dean noticed his strange tone, laden with implication.

"You know I'm fine, I should thank you three for saving me." Harry felt a pang of guilt. Without making a sound Luna appeared, settling down in the sand next to him. She cut off Harry just as he attempted to speak.

"I already told Dean you were going to try to apologize, even though it's not your fault." Harry gawked angrily at the blonde, feeling unduly surprised at her boldness. Dean took this as his opportunity to chime in.

"Look mate, it doesn't matter if you've got a hand in the war or not, if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was going to come back he was going to target people like me anyway," Harry attempted to interrupt, but Dean talked over him still. "That's why I'm on the run, my dad was a wizard but he ran out on us, I've got no proof that I'm not Muggleborn." Harry shook his head, feeling rather ganged up on when Luna continued.

"Dean is being too polite to tell you, but it's not all about you, Harry. I was abducted because of what my father writes. We all have people we're fighting for. You can win the war, but if we didn't want to fight we wouldn't. We want to rid the world of a very dark evil." Dean rocked back and forth in a try at containing his chuckle.

"I've got to agree with Luna, it's not your fault we were locked in that cellar. It's you, Ron, and Hermione's doing that we're not there anymore, though, so thanks."

"And don't forget Dobby," Luna added before Harry could. "You don't help yourself worrying about everyone else, you have a job to do, and we can make our own decisions."

"Always so blunt, Luna," Dean scolded jokingly, shaking his head. "We support you fully, you should know that." Harry nodded curtly.

"It's kind of hard when people drop like flies because it's taking me so bloody long to get things sorted," Harry groaned. Though he felt like he was saying too much he was glad for their reassurances, which loosened his tongue considerably. "I'm sad for every life lost, but when it's people I grew up with on the line it's just that much harder to watch."

"Sounds like you could use a drink," Dean muttered, standing, then helping Luna to do the same. "Luna was telling me what you were saying about Hermione and Ron, about how you feel bad about putting them in danger," he said, continuing as the three of them began walking toward the house. "First off, Hermione is the brains of your whole operation, and a bloke's hard up to find a mate like Ron. There's no way you'd get through this without them, you always need friends."

"I suppose you're right." Harry begrudged.

"You know he's right and that I'm right, so stop beating yourself up, Harry Potter." Luna admonished as the three reached the cottage.

**XXX**

"Well my dear, it looks like you owe me a snog!" Bill taunted, ruffling his wife's hair as he withdrew his face from the window. Fleur heaved a sigh before tearing her own gaze away from the distant scene of Ron and Hermione.

"God damn you, Hermione." She pouted, ever the sore loser. She typically rather liked her chances at gambling, but she'd bet on the wrong horse, so to speak, and Hermione had failed to make the first move. She glared at Bill as she patted her hair back into place.

"It's not my fault Ron chose today to not act like a complete idot, the little bugger." Bill grinned, giving her an intentionally sloppy kiss to claim his prize. Fleur laughed, shaking her head.

"It's not the worst bet to have lost," she smiled, looking back out towards Ron and Hermione. Bill followed her stare. "I'm very happy for them, but incredibly sad for them at the same time," she admitted. "But not knowing was worse, wasn't it?" Bill nodded. "They could very likely die for what they're doing."

"More like for what they've done," Bill quipped. "Those three have been through thick and thin together. Besides, we're all in danger now. Any one of us could die tomorrow. In the next hour even," Fleur's eyes welled with tears. Though they both knew this to be true it was more of an unspoken reality. Bill pulled her towards him, enveloping her in a tight hug. "And I'll be fine because I've loved you and married you, and every single day you make me the happiest man who ever lived, alright?" There was a moment of silence before Fleur sniffled, quickly laughing in a rather twisted and heartbroken way.

"I never cried much until I fell in love with you," she muttered, shaking as she pulled away to wipe her eyes as Bill scoffed, pretending to be affronted. "I was never that emotional!" She teased, growing suddenly somber once more. "_Sans toi, je suis perdu."_ Bill smiled down at her, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"I'm lost without you, too," Fleur's eyes widened with delight at his understanding of her words. "Yeah, I've been practicing." He bragged, feigning nonchalance. Fleur shook her head.

"Could I hear some French, then?" asked Harry from the doorway, causing both Bill and Fleur jump. He was smiling like he had caught them in the act of something far more devious. Fleur laughed, turning from the three teens who had appeared in the doorway to make sure there were no stray tears.

"Sod off, Potter." Bill barked, giving Harry a rude gesture as he sat at the table. Fleur scolded him, earning a laugh from Luna and Dean.

"Have you got anything to drink, Bill?" Dean asked, looking delighted when the older boy complied.

**XXX**

Hermione was torn between the urges to laugh, cry, or faint. Her anger and sadness evaporated, she felt as if her head had been filled with white noise, her heart beat at an alarmingly accelerated.

The kiss was s very… Ron.

His mouth itself was wonderfully warm and soft, though unsurprisingly the action itself was… aggressive?

A nanosecond flickered by before Hermione realized her misjudgment, it was passion. She was being kissed passionately, and by none other than her ginger-haired, awkward, bullheaded Ron Weasley.

She emitted a nervous giggle, throwing her arms around her neck.

"Don't think I'm not still mad at you for being insufferable." She breathed, pulling away, but keeping her arms securely around him. His hands found there way to her waist, pulling her against him.

"I'm only trying to tell you that I love you." Ron challenged. Hermione blinked up at him, tears springing to her eyes.

"So it's love, then?" she asked timidly, her voice sounding unusually small. Ron gave her a strange look. Had it been the wrong thing for him to say? He was going to be humiliated if that were the case.

"Yeah, it's always been you, Hermione." He replied at last, causing a nervous sob-like laugh to erupt from her.

"Good, because I love you too." She whispered, pulling him back in for another kiss.

**Translation for the French text at the top:**

"_**I'm told that our lives aren't worth much,**_

_**They pass like an instant, like wilting roses.**_

_**I'm told that time slipping by is a bastard**_

_**Making its coat of our sorrows.**_

_**Yet someone told me…"**_


End file.
